Georgia had hoped to get her grandmother reminiscing about Uncle Ned that evening, but once they’d finished the dishes, she found that Lindsay was joining them. Something in her expression must have alerted Miz Callie that she wasn’t thrilled at the thought.
“I enjoy having Lindsay here,” Miz Callie said, emphasizing the words with the clatter of a pot lid into the sink. “Is that a problem for you?”
Her disenchantment with Matt couldn’t be allowed to affect her attitude toward the little girl. “I’m glad to see Lindsay. I was looking forward to having a nice talk with my favorite grandmother, that’s all.”
Miz Callie waved the words away with a flip of her dish towel, smiling. “She won’t stay long, so we can talk all you want later. Matt has to finish up some work at the office after supper.”
It was probably the work he’d neglected while he was searching through tedious computer records for Ned Bodine. She ought to feel grateful. She would, if she didn’t understand his motives so clearly.
“Here she comes now.” Miz Callie peered out the kitchen window. “We’re goin’ on the beach. You coming?”
“I’ll be along in a minute. I want to get something.”
When she descended the stairs a few minutes later, Miz Callie was ensconced in her favorite beach chair, with Lindsay digging in the sand at her feet.
Grabbing a chair, Georgia slung the cloth bag containing her sketching materials over her shoulder. She walked down the short path through the dunes.
“Hey.” She flipped the beach chair open and sat down. “You diggin’ your way to China, Lindsay?”
“I’m making a lake for Julie and Janie to play in.” Julie and Janie were apparently the two tiny plastic dolls that lay on the sand.
“They’ll like that.” She opened the sketch pad and sat back, taking in the scene.
The tide ebbed, leaving an expanse of shining sand traced with an intricate pattern of ghost crab trails and sandpiper prints. She began to draw.
Lindsay appeared at her elbow. “What are you drawing?”
“What I see.” That probably sounded a little short, though she didn’t mean it that way. “I have an extra pad with me. Would you like to draw?”
Lindsay clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m not very good.”
It was the sort of thing she said about herself. She didn’t like hearing it from Lindsay. “Drawing is one of those things you can do just for fun.” She held the pad and a few colored pencils out to Lindsay.
“What should I draw?” She sat on the sand.
“What do you see?”
Lindsay craned her neck as she looked around. “I see a sea gull sitting in the sand. But that’d be hard to draw.”
“For fun, remember?”
Lindsay nodded. Then she bent over the pad.
Georgia tried to concentrate on her own drawing, but she couldn’t help watching Lindsay. The child was certainly tied up in knots. Was that part of the aftermath of losing her mother? She couldn’t even guess.
She’d never thought herself particularly maternal. Annabel, Amanda’s twin, had all the maternal instincts. Even when they were children, it was always Annabel who comforted people and critters when they hurt. She’d collected more strays than the animal shelter.
She didn’t have those instincts, but she felt the softening of her heart when she watched Lindsay. Despite a large, loving family, she knew what it was to feel lonely.
Lindsay held the pad back a little, frowning at her picture. “It doesn’t look right. See?”
True, the picture didn’t look much like the sea gull, but at least it was identifiable as a bird.
“I like it,” she said. “I don’t believe I drew birds that well when I was seven.” She handed it to her grandmother.
“I do like it, too. I’ll bet you’d enjoy coloring it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That was the first time she’d heard Lindsay add the familiar Southern grace note of calling Miz Callie “ma’am,” and it made both of them smile.
“You’re turning into a real island girl,” Miz Callie said. “Even sounding like a native.”
Lindsay frowned. “What’s a native?”
“Somebody who was born here, sugar.” Georgia tugged the blond ponytail lightly. “But we take outlanders, too, long as they learn as fast as you do.”
Lindsay bent over her picture, but Georgia didn’t miss the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Lindsay shot a sideways glance at Georgia. “You said I was seven. But I’m almost eight.”
“It’s a good picture, even for an eight-year-old,” Georgia said promptly.
“Almost eight.” Miz Callie echoed the child’s words. “When is your birthday?”
“Tuesday.” A cloud crossed Lindsay’s face. “Last year I had a party at the jump palace with all my friends. My mommy got me a cake with a princess on it.”
They were silent for a moment.
“I’ll bet your daddy is planning to do something special.” He’d better be.
She shrugged. “He said maybe I could have a party. But I don’t know enough kids to invite to a party.”
“You know me,” Miz Callie said briskly. “And you know Georgia, and I’ll bet you’re meeting some friends at Bible school.”
“That’s right.” At this point, she’d say just about anything to wipe that woebegone look from Lindsay’s face. “You’ll have a real island celebration for your birthday.”
“What’s this about a birthday?” Matt’s voice sounded behind them.
Georgia jerked around. She’d expected to see him walking down the beach, at which point she could have disappeared into the house. He’d evidently parked in front of Miz Callie’s and come back on the path instead.
“We were talking about Lindsay’s birthday,” Miz Callie said, getting up and stretching. “We can’t believe she’s going to be eight already.”
“Next week.” Matt leaned over Lindsay’s chair. “What a great picture. Did Georgia help you?”
“She did it all herself,” Georgia said quickly.
“Georgia let me use her paper and pencils,” Lindsay said. “I want to give it to Miz Callie.”
“Why, thank you so much.” Miz Callie held out her arm, and Lindsay went to lean against her. “We’ll hang it up in the kitchen so I can see it every day.”
Miz Callie’s refrigerator had always been host to a rotating display of grandkids’ art. Now Lindsay’s picture would take its place there.
Lindsay glanced at her father. “Can I help hang it up before we go home?”
“Sure enough.” Miz Callie started to pick up her chair, but Matt took it from her.
“You go ahead. I’ll help Georgia take the chairs up.”
Obviously he had something to say to her. Miz Callie held out her hand to Lindsay. “We’ll see if there are any cookies in the jar, long as we’re going to the kitchen.”
Georgia watched them head for the cottage, her throat tightening. Her grandmother had become a little stooped, moving more slowly than she once did. But she still focused her total attention on the child by her side.
She bent to pick up a chair, but Matt stopped her.
“Wait. Please.” The please sounded like an afterthought. “We need to talk.”
“I have to go in.” She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say, not right at the moment. Maybe they had to work together, but she wouldn’t let herself be drawn into believing this was anything more than business to him.
“It’s important.”
Her gaze rose to his face. “Did you find out something?”
“No, I didn’t. Why are you angry with me?”
The blunt question shook her. She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Why would I be angry?” Her voice sounded calm and detached, and she was proud of that.
“That’s what I’d like to know.” His fingers closed on her hand, as if to keep her there, and his palm was warm against her skin. “One minute we were talking about your grandmother’s case, and the next you shot out of my office as if a monster were after you.”
“I didn’t... I mean, I was late.” Why didn’t she just tell him? Amanda would. Amanda would square up to him and tell him just what she thought.
But she wasn’t Amanda.
“That’s not it, and you know it.” His voice was edged with frustration, and his fingers pressed against her skin. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her heart began to thud. “You! You’re what’s wrong.”
He stared at her blankly. “What are you talking about?” His eyes grew icy. “I’m an outsider, is that it?”
“No, that’s not it. I don’t care where you’re from. I do care that you’re using my grandmother to further your career.”
He stiffened. “Is that really what you think of me?”
“That’s what you said. You need a big case involving someone who’ll give you the opening you need to break in here. My grandmother was perfect for you, wasn’t she? Everybody knows the Bodine name. You took advantage of living next door to her. You talked her into—”
“Stop right there.” The words were so heavy with anger that they silenced her.
But he didn’t continue. Instead he took a breath, looked down at his hand gripping hers and loosened his hold so that his fingers encircled her wrist lightly.
“Let’s back up. All right, yes, I did say that I needed a client of my own.” His eyes darkened with pain. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting to succeed here. I have Lindsay to consider.”
His voice roughened, twisting her heart against her will.
“My daughter doesn’t have anybody else. I took a chance, moving here. I have to make it work.”
She didn’t want to sympathize. Didn’t want to understand. “My grandmother—”
“Miz Callie came to me.” He said the words evenly, as if to give equal weight to each of them. “Georgia, I did not try to convince her to do this. She had already decided exactly what she wanted. She laid it all out for me.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Do you really think I could talk her into anything she didn’t want to do?”
“No.” Her voice was small when she admitted it. “I guess not. But I thought you were doing this because you wanted to help her. Because you liked her. Not because you thought her influence would establish you here.”
“I do like her. How could I help it? Her kindness to Lindsay is enough to put me in her debt.”
The passion in his voice moved her. “Even so...”
“Even so, I hope doing this job for her will bring me new clients. But from what you’ve said, it might have exactly the opposite effect.”
She hadn’t thought of that. She’d jumped to conclusions about his motives without thinking it through, maybe because she’d had enough of men who’d sacrifice anything or anyone for the sake of success. Shame colored her cheeks.
“I hope that won’t happen. For all of our sakes. I’m sorry, Matt. I reacted without thinking.” Her cheeks were hot, and she had to force herself to meet his eyes.
He didn’t speak for a minute, though he looked as if words hovered on his tongue. With his hand closed around her wrist, he must feel the way her pulse was racing.
“It’s okay,” he said finally, and she had the feeling that wasn’t what he’d intended to say. “I hope that, too, but either way, I’m in this to the finish. No matter what happens.”
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
He held her hand for a moment longer. Then he let it go slowly, maybe reluctantly. He picked up the chairs.
“We’d better go in.”
As she followed him toward the house, she knew that something had changed between them again, like the sand shifting under her feet when she stood in the waves on the ebbing tide. She knew how to keep her balance in the surf. But this change—she didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid or both.
Window panes rattled as the wind whipped around the beach house. Georgia leaned against the sliding glass door, shielding her eyes with her hand as she peered out into the dark.
“It sounds as if there’s rain coming.” She couldn’t see much, but she recognized the signs.
“A line of thunderstorms is coming through, according to the weather.” Miz Callie looked up from the newspaper she was reading. “I already drew some water and got the candles out, just in case it gets bad.”
Miz Callie believed in being prepared, like most of the old-timers. The island had seen its share of bad weather over the years.
Thunder boomed overhead, and her grandmother put the paper aside. “I’ll get the candles...”
“I’ll do it.”
Georgia waved her back to her padded rocking chair and hurried into the kitchen. The candles, stuck into a motley assortment of holders, sat on the counter, along with a pack of matches. Georgia carried three into the living room, setting one on the table next to Miz Callie and the others on the mantel.
As she did so, lightning cracked in a spectacular display over the water, lighting up the beach for a split second. Then the power went off.
“That was fast.” Georgia groped her way back to her grandmother, fumbled with the matches and lit the candle. She made quick work of lighting the other two, welcoming their soft yellow glow.
“Thank you, sugar.” Miz Callie patted the overstuffed hassock next to her, and Georgia sat down. “There now, all safe and cozy.”
A roll of thunder sounded, so loud it seemed to rattle the dishes in the cupboard. Georgia moved a little closer to her grandmother. “This is just like old times. How many summer thunderstorms have we waited out in here?”
Her grandmother chuckled softly. “Remember when Amanda hid under the bed?”
“I sure do. But it’s probably not safe to remind her of that anymore.” The polished, efficient Amanda she’d lunched with bore little resemblance to the terrified child who’d refused to come out from under the bed in a storm.
“This house stood through Hugo. I don’t reckon anything short of that will bother it.”
Sorrow touched her grandmother’s face for a moment, and Georgia knew she was thinking about her own family home. Before Hurricane Hugo, it had been on the lot beyond where Matt’s rental house stood.
“I’m sorry. You lost so much in Hugo.”
“Plenty of people did.” Miz Callie patted her hand. “I just hope Lindsay’s not frightened. Maybe I should have warned Matt to have some candles ready.”
“I’m sure he’s capable of handling the situation.” The mention of his name brought back those moments on the beach. She wrapped her fingers around her wrist. She could feel his grasp, see the play of emotion in his eyes.
Miz Callie leaned back in the rocker, her gaze on Georgia’s face. “I s’pose it’s too soon, but I can’t help but wonder...”
“Nothing new to report yet. Matt is searching the military records as a starting point.” She needed to do her part—to get Miz Callie talking in hopes that more would emerge. “If there’s anything else you can remember about that time, it might help.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” She took something from the bookcase behind her. “I had a look around today, and I found this.”
Georgia took the book she held out—an old leather album, its cover watermarked. She opened it carefully. The brittle pages cracked at a touch, and some of the photos had washed out so much that they were indecipherable, especially by candlelight.
“They’re in a bad way, I’m afraid.” Miz Callie touched a faded picture. “That’s my mamma and my little sister, your Great-aunt Lizbet. Mamma and Daddy bought me that little Brownie camera for my birthday, and I was so proud of it. Never stopped taking pictures that whole summer.”
“The summer Ned left?” A little shiver of excitement went through her.
Her grandmother looked surprised. “That’s right, it must have been, because that’s the year I got the camera, 1942. We had a crab boil on the beach, I remember, but we had to have it before sunset because of the blackout.”
“Blackout?”
“Georgia Lee, don’t tell me you didn’t know there were blackout regulations during the war.” Miz Callie shook her head at such ignorance.
Georgia flushed. “I knew. I just didn’t think about it affecting your having a fire on the beach, I guess.” It seemed incredibly long ago to her, but obviously not to her grandmother.
“Goodness, child, that was crucial, because of the U-boats. German submarines,” she added, as if doubting Georgia would know the term.
“You mean you were actually in danger here?”
Her grandmother’s gaze misted. “They sank ships along the coast from here up to Cape Cod, so I’ve heard. Grown-ups would stop talking about it when we came into the room. But we knew. We talked about what we’d do if the Germans landed. Your granddad was going to fight them off with his slingshot, as I recall.”
Miz Callie’s words made it all too real. Her skin prickled, and she rubbed her arm. “I can’t imagine living through that.”
“You mustn’t think we were frightened all the time. Land, no. We played on the beach just like we always did—a whole crew of us kids. We just weren’t allowed to roam as far as we wanted—there was a gunnery range from Station 28 all the way up to Breech’s Inlet, and of course they expanded Fort Moultrie down at the other end.”
She tried to picture it. “You were living right in the middle of a military installation, it sounds like. I’m surprised your folks stayed on the island.”
“Pride, I guess. My daddy used to say that Hitler wasn’t going to chase him out of his house.” Miz Callie smiled, as if she could still hear her daddy’s voice. “Folks took it personally, you know. I guess that’s why the family was so upset with Ned.”
“Did you know that at the time?”
Her grandmother turned a page in the album, frowning down at it. “I think maybe us kids knew something was going on, even if we didn’t know what it was. We were in and out of each other’s houses, and we’d hear things. I remember Ned’s daddy being in an awful mood, it seemed.” She pointed to a faded photo. “There we are—the whole bunch of us.”
The photo was a five by seven, so it was a little easier to see than the others. Kids in swimsuits, the front row kneeling in the sand. She picked out Miz Callie and Granddad without any trouble. She put her finger on a tall figure in the second row. “Is that Ned?”
Miz Callie nodded. “Fine-looking boy, wasn’t he? And there’s my cousin Jessie, and the Whitcomb boys—my, I haven’t thought of them in years.”
This might be exactly what she needed, and there seemed no way to ask the question except to blurt it out. “Are any of them still around?”
“My sister Lizbet, down in Beaufort, you know that.” She touched the young faces with her finger. “I don’t know about the Whitcomb boys. They were good friends of your granddad and Ned, but they moved away to Atlanta, I think. Tommy Barton—he was Ned’s pal. He got into the army that next winter, died somewhere in the South Pacific.”
All those young faces, their lives encapsulated in a few brief sentences. Georgia glanced at her grandmother, another question on her lips. But she stifled it. Miz Callie had tears in her eyes, and the finger that touched the photo was trembling.
Georgia clasped her hand. “Will you let me borrow the album for a few days? Adam has a scanner, and I know he’d be glad to scan the pictures into his photo program on the computer. He can probably restore them, at least a bit. Okay?”
Miz Callie nodded, leaning back in the chair. “You do that, sugar. We’ll look at them again. Maybe I’ll remember somethin’ useful.”
“You’ve already helped.” She rose, bending to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “We’ll work it out. I promise.”